


the planet’s reflection in your eyes

by rockcandyshrike



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Fluff, Is there a Star Wars version of Halloween?, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2020-02-28 19:03:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18762532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rockcandyshrike/pseuds/rockcandyshrike
Summary: Chirrut placed his drink on the ground and clapped his hands together in front of his mouth. He inhaled sharply. Turning his face skyward, he whispered a short prayer for patience before staring at the other Guardian with a flat expression. “Baze, you do this every holiday season. We have wreaths hanging from every door. The halls are festooned with ribbons and paper cutouts. You put up a Life Day tree in the foyer.We don’t celebrate Life Day.”---Chirrut and Baze go to a space pumpkin patch.





	the planet’s reflection in your eyes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [orcamermaid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orcamermaid/gifts).



> I STARTED THIS FIC IN OCTOBER CAN YOU BELIEVE
> 
> This is for kaijudyke on tumblr who drew me the most amazing fanart for a different fic (which reminds me i need to link it in my other fic) and has been absurdly patient as i pecked away at my keyboard to produce this
> 
> also shoutout to egregiousderp who cheered me on and vaenire for beta-ing this!

It was a common misconception that Baze was wrapped around Chirrut’s little finger.

It would certainly seem that way from an outside perspective. Baze liked to gift him with treats, either bought from the vendors in the market or baked with his own two hands in the kitchens. He fussed over Chirrut’s well being, nagging him not to push himself too far during training and tending his wounds when he inevitably did. And of course, no matter how much he huffed and sighed, he always followed Chirrut into whatever mischief his beloved felt like stirring up, their connection as unerring as gravity’s pull.

In truth, Baze was indulgent; he enjoyed going along with Chirrut’s various whimsies.

In secret, he had absolutely no qualms about turning the tables on Chirrut.

On the first crisp day that marked the turning of Jedha’s short-lived harvest season, Chirrut was blissfully unaware of what the future held in store for him. The harvest season was brief on Jedha as farming was scanty, typically focused upon livestock or gathering moisture from the air, but there were a few produce farms down to the south amongst the valleys. Chirrut enjoyed seeing the farmers come to NiJedha and set up tables to sell their wares every Benduday, but he had a busy schedule that morning and was heading towards the foundry after his early guard shift at the inner front gate.

Running over the list of supplies he needed to pick up at the market through his head, he was knocked out of his thoughts when he walked smack dab into another Guardian’s chest. A distinctive chest Chirrut knew intimately belonged to one Baze Malbus. He leaned back, though not so far as to break the grasp of Baze’s hands which had jumped instinctively to his arms to support him, and grinned up at his sweetheart.

“Baze, there you are! I didn’t see you at breakfast. What have you been up to this fine morning?”

Baze’s face lit up in the sweet smile he reserved for Chirrut, a crooked curve of the lips and a morning dew-soft look in his eyes that never failed to transmogrify Chirrut’s heart into an iridescent bubble ready to burst. His diminishing sight did nothing to cushion the impact. Chirrut had a fleeting thought that when he finally went blind, at least Baze’s tender words and touches would never lose their power.

“I was speaking with the elders. And I was looking for you,” Baze admitted a bit sheepishly.

Chirrut perked up in curiosity. “Whatever for? I thought you were scheduled for a full day in the gardens.”

“I cleared it. There’s a special at the Tankal farm for neewollah gourds, but it’s only for today. Let’s go and pick some,” Baze said, excitement clear in his voice and the way his hands squeezed Chirrut’s biceps.

“I’m sorry, dear, I cannot,” Chirrut replied ruefully, “I have a meeting with Master Khojv to talk about the progress on my lightbow, and then I have to pick up some power converters for Xgoor at the market, and _then_ I have to visit the Turu family with Elder Brys, and _then–_ ”

“Tell them to postpone til tomorrow, or call in some favors with the Yazi triplets. I know they owe you for last week.” Baze interjected, his hands sliding up to cradle Chirrut’s neck, right thumb gently stroking the sensitive skin over his pulse.

“Baze, I’m busy and Tankal farm is three hours away.” Chirrut spluttered as the color climbed in his cheeks, resistance already crumbling.

“Chirrut, I haven’t spent any real time with you in weeks. Come with me,” Baze entreated.

At this point, Chirrut should’ve known what would happen next, but in his defense, Baze hadn’t pulled out this particular weapon from his arsenal since they were children. As it was, he was caught completely off guard when Baze shifted closer, gaze locked firmly upon the ground, before tilting his head up and sucker punching Chirrut with the biggest, roundest, saddest puppy eyes to ever terrorize the known galaxy. His diminishing sight did _fuck all_ to cushion the impact.

“Please, my light, moon who calls the tides of my heart.” Baze brought one of Chirrut’s hands up to his mouth and kissed his knuckles lightly because he was a ruthless monster.

Chirrut dropped his head into Baze’s shoulder and groaned like a dying man, “This is blatant manipulation.”

Baze hummed a pleased note, content in his imminent victory. “Who do you think I learned it from?”

“I cannot believe you're sweet-talking me into playing hooky with you,” Chirrut chuckled disbelievingly. “You’re a bad influence, Baze Malbus.”

“And who do you think I learned it from?” Baze repeated with a sardonic smirk against Chirrut’s temple. “Come pick neewollah gourds with me.”

Chirrut snorted at their role reversal as he snaked an arm around Baze’s waist, taking out his communicator from his pocket and sending off several messages. He may as well cash in those favors with Hué, Dué, and Lué.

“There, now whisk me away,” he commanded.

Baze’s laughter traveled through the temple as he led Chirrut to the garage, echoed by the twinkling of the kyber crystals down in the caverns.

\---

Chirrut whistled tunelessly as he warmed his hands around a steaming cup, watching a farm employee take pictures of a Bith child posing with an impressively large vegetable in front of a smiling scarecrow. He’d lost Baze somewhere around the dabaroo vine trellises, but Chirrut was unconcerned. They always found each other in the end, so he’d decided to lean against a fence-post and take in the scenery.

Tankal farm was a lovely sight in the afternoon sun. Though most of the farm was covered in greenhouses standing in neat, soldierly rows and filled to the rafters with vertical aeroponic equipment, a handful of acres had been reserved for traditional growing methods that allowed the children from local communities an opportunity to learn how food was grown. Game stalls and concession stands had been set up to circle the neewollah gourd patch and with the families flitting about the plots of brightly colored produce, it gave the farm the atmosphere of a small festival.

“Chirrut, look at the size of this one!”

Chirrut glanced up from his neewollah spice drink and gawped when he saw Baze rolling over a neewollah gourd the size of a juvenile bantha. Baze beamed with the force of a tachyon laser, thumping the side of the grotesquely gargantuan gourd.

“This one is perfect for the temple children to carve together,” his beloved enthused.

“By the stars, Baze, if you load that onto the speeder, I doubt it’ll get off the ground let alone take us back home.” He gestured to the knee-high pile of miniature gourds sitting in a basket next to him. “And didn’t you want to bring these tiny ones home?”

“We can take all of them home, the backseat is big enough,” Baze reassured.

Chirrut couldn’t believe he had to say this, but, “Baze, no.”

“Chirrut, they’re all dirt cheap.”

“Where are we going to put them all?” Chirrut questioned, marveling to himself that _he_ was being the responsible one for once.

“We could put some by the temple entrance, some in the meal hall, some in the creche, one or two for our dorm.”

Chirrut placed his drink on the ground and clapped his hands together in front of his mouth. He inhaled sharply. Turning his face skyward, he whispered a short prayer for patience before staring at the other Guardian with a flat expression. “Baze, you do this every holiday season. We have wreaths hanging from every door. The halls are festooned with ribbons and paper cutouts. You put up a Life Day tree in the foyer. _We don’t celebrate Life Day._ ”

Baze slumped over the grotesquely gargantuan gourd as if he were shielding it from gunfire and responded with a touch of petulance, “I will not apologize for festive cheer.”

“Where do we draw the line, Baze?” Chirrut challenged, “because if you start bringing dancing statues of jolly fat men into the temple, I’m kicking you out of our room.”

“I won’t do that,” Baze soothed.

“Or animatronic light displays. You remember how last year’s caught fire?” Chirrut added with an arched brow.

Baze conceded, begrudgingly, “Alright, no animatronic light displays. But these are just gourds. They don’t even move.”

“We still can’t take all of them home,” Chirrut said firmly, knowing that if he didn’t stand his ground Baze would charge forward without thought, fueled by his holiday season high.

“But Chirrut,” Baze started.

And so they descended into a _very_ prolonged squabble.

They argued over the logistics. They quarreled over the propriety. They clashed over the drapes in their room (unrelated, but they got sidetracked for a minute or two). It went on for long enough that the rosy surface of NaJedha began to slip down past the horizon, burrowing into the purple-orange-golden clouds that formed her celestial duvet.

“Think of how jealous it’ll make our neighbors, Chirrut.”

Chirrut rolled his eyes heavenward and startled when he noticed the sky darkening and the stars of _Kareema’s Saber_ beginning to unsheathe. Fulldark was but an hour and a half away. He scanned Tankal farm and saw the vendors packing up their stalls onto hauling speeders. The parents shouldering their children as they drooped, little seedlings wanting to curl back up into their garden beds. He looked back at Baze and watched the same realization dawn in his lover’s eyes as he turned his head towards the horizon, the glow of incipient twilight feathering across the gentle planes of his face.

Chirrut felt his heart skip; the world slowed to a pitch syrup drip. A veil of tranquility settled over him, the Force granting him its perfect perspective. He was here. One of an infinite number of specks, darkness intertwined with light. Baze was here. Another speck, light intertwined with darkness, that had chosen to cleave himself to Chirrut of all people. Through thick and thin. Past, present and future. In the grand scheme of the Force, he could let this argument go. A couple dozen gourds didn’t matter in the long run. They would be gone in a few months, into pastries or into the temple compost heaps.

It was possible his vision would also be gone in a few months.

The thought swelled—and swelled—and swelled—and Chirrut breathed out deliberately as it flowed over him like a passing wave. Although his blindness had progressed to the point he no longer had any night vision, he could still see now in the waning light before dusk. The tension in his bones swept out to sea as he focused his half-clouded eyes and the Force in his heart upon Baze. This was a little moment. This was a fleeting moment. This was an everyday moment out of a future eternity of moments. Thus, it was a moment of immeasurable importance. Chirrut could hear his grandmother in his head: _When you hammer a nail, be careful you do not build a coffin in place of a house._

He wanted to build something that soared through the stars with Baze. This resolve crystallized in his heart, and Chirrut redirected his energy towards memorizing how the shadow curving along Baze’s cheek made his face heartbreakingly tender. How the evening breeze picking up around them ruffled his hair so his ears peeked out like the glint of treasure in a vault. His surprised expression when Chirrut cupped his jaw that instantly melted into affection, tinged with exasperation as familiar as his own name in the quirk of Baze’s mouth.

“We should head home.” Baze sighed, “We’ll miss the dinner bell, but we can pick up something to eat at the night market.”

“That’s alright, it’s Nafsed and Jei’s turn to cook dinner tonight anyway,” Chirrut replied, laughing at the faint revulsion that flitted across his beloved’s face. He brought his other hand up to smooth a flyaway strand of hair behind Baze’s ear and carded his fingers through his mane. “Listen, about the gourds—”

Baze sighed again. “I know, I know, it’s a bit much. But—”

“Is it important to you?” Chirrut asked, voice unusually solemn.

Caught off-guard by the sudden change in mood, Baze stumbled over his words. “Ah, yes. I want to share the joy of the holidays with everyone we know. And I,” he paused, biting his lip as he glanced away.

“And?” Chirrut prodded.

A heartbeat passed; something firmed behind Baze’s eyes. He covered Chirrut’s hands with his own and turned his gaze, heavy as a survivor’s burden, back to Chirrut. “I want this to be the best holiday you or anyone will ever see. But especially you.”

Oh. Oh, his sweet Baze, the greatest wonder of his universe.

“If it’s important to you then that’s all that matters. How about this, we ask the farm to put the big neewollah on hold and come back for it another day with a proper cargo rack to haul it home.” Chirrut brightened as an idea came to him. “ _Or,_ we ask the farm if they can deliver it to the temple tomorrow. I’d love to see Master Fa-zhe’s face when they drop a gourd bigger than the main hall altar on our doorstep.”

Baze chuckled heartily at the mention of Jedha’s tetchiest Guardian. “He’d have an apoplectic fit. Alright, let’s do that.”

“Excellent,” Chirrut grinned as his hands wandered down to rearrange the scarf coiled around Baze’s neck. “It’ll be chilly driving back to the temple. Buy us another drink for the road? And a meiloorun bun to go with it?”

Baze scoffed, but Chirrut could feel the amusement rolling off of him. “Finish your first drink, you sarlacc pit. You’ll have to pay me back for the meiloorun bun.”

“Would a kiss suffice as payment?” Chirrut lilted as he fluttered his lashes.

“You think I’m that cheap?” Baze jokingly challenged, his work-rough yet feather-gentle hands drawn to Chirrut’s hips.

Chirrut leaned forward til they were chest to chest. “How about two kisses?”

Baze’s eyes were always warm, but they were ardent in the blushing gloaming light. “You can do better than that.”

“Three kisses?” he cajoled, pulling Baze in even closer by the ends of his scarf.

The hands on his hips squeezed in just the right way to make him shiver. “Hmmm.”

“Undying love and eternal devotion,” Chirrut threw out as he bumped their noses together. “Final offer.”

Baze caught his mouth with a tilt of his head, lips reverent like sunset prayer. “Deal.”

It was cold in the sliver-space betwixt day and night. Chirrut was uncertain in the limbo betwixt darkness and sight. But he wrapped himself around Baze, and Baze wrapped himself around him. A plain, unspoken truth.

The heat of their shared breath was more than enough. 

**Author's Note:**

> kudos, comments, random dms on tumblr are all encouraged and appreciated bc i am a thirsty little flower! hmu i'm rockcandyshrike ;)


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